The Year That . . .

I stopped working. Abruptly.

I cycled more than 2,200 miles, climbing over 70,000 feet, on 85 rides.

I visited Chico for the first time, to enjoy their Wildflower bike event.

I raised money for Best Buddies and biked in the California Challenge (formerly Hearst Castle Challenge), for the 17th consecutive year. I also raised money and rode in the MS Society's Waves to Wine event (for the first time since 2006).

I contibuted my time to six volunteer opportunities, mostly outdoors.

I completed 41 hikes, trekking more than 200 (mostly hilly) miles in regional (and state) parks and preserves.

I shared so many of these adventures with a widening circle of friends, and honored the memory of two that we lost.

I explored the natural world at a deeper level, becoming an enthusiastic member of the global iNaturalist community.

The year that was . . . 2023.

Wilder Ranch

Our hike was well-timed, today: we had a spell of sunshine on the coast.

For me, this was a great opportunity to explore new terrain; unlike my hiking buddy, it was my first visit to Wilder Ranch State Park. It often feels like the entire population of Silicon Valley migrates to Santa Cruz most weekends, making it one of the last places I want to be. And although we've had a tradition of hiking on Christmas Day for a few years, this time we opted for the day after.

Harbor seals hauled out to snooze on a sunny, secluded beach. Two memorable creatures were ones we couldn't see: well-hidden frogs, croaking away, and a burrowing owl (spotted by some birders with binoculars and a camera with a very long lens).

We were aware of warnings about high seas and rogue waves. Water puddling high on a cliff is the ocean's “don't stand here” sign. Had I been more savvy, I could have captured the moment when a young couple got completely drenched by the spray from a big wave that slammed into the wall of rock. The look on their faces ... They were good sports, though; she wrung out her long hair and they kept hiking.

The cormorants were unperturbed on their private perch.

Ah, California! Something is always blooming. As the day's palette filled with shades of gray, the colorful (but sadly, invasive) Cape-Ivy was our sunshine.

I managed to uproot an entire invasive mustard plant, earning “good job!” from an understanding cyclist as he passed. With only a few scattered along the trail, it felt like there's a fair chance of fighting it off.

Retracing our path to the parking lot, we covered a healthy 7.2 miles. A word of thanks to my hiking companion for her indulgence as I snapped so many photos (57 distinct plants and animals and mushrooms, oh my!). Of all, we agreed that the aptly festive Willow Apple Gall Sawfly was the strangest:

Nature Lesson

When a friend suggested we hike at the Picchetti Ranch Open Space Preserve today, I hesitated. So soon, again? But this outing (4.4 miles) would be led by docent naturalists and include some terrain I hadn't explored before.

We enjoyed beautiful weather, a break between rain storms. Low clouds dotted the valley, to the east.

When the docents paused next to an impressive mound of sticks, I knew what was coming: a story about the dusky-footed woodrat. This nest was larger than others I've seen; a casual observer might assume it was constructed by a human, or some other mammal certainly larger than a rat.

I've learned so much this year, hiking with docents and engaging with the iNaturalist community. Even though I'd trekked down the Zinfandel Trail just two weeks ago, today I saw things that I'd overlooked. And of course, plants follow their natural cycle throughout the year.

As we hiked down the trail, I spotted some ferns that were freshly sprouting. When I paused to get a photo as we returned, a docent identified it as a Polypody. Taking a closer look, I realized it wasn't a type of fern I'd noticed before (much less, heard of).

That's the thing: To advance from registering “plant,” to “leafy green plant,” to “fern,” to ... Polypody. Yet, there is so much more in this one photo: another leafy plant (California bay laurel) in the background, a bit of mushroom in the lower right corner, and moss carpeting a decaying log.

One step at a time.

Just Right

Although we'd hiked just two weeks ago, and my former colleagues weren't expecting to plan a December hike, this date turned out to work well for many of them. Really well. I joined twelve people for a bite-sized hike (4 miles). Several were folks I hadn't seen in many months (or longer).

This hike is not too challenging—neither too long nor too short. The Zinfandel Trail descends gradually toward Stevens Creek, mostly under tree cover, and affords a clear view of the Stevens Creek Reservoir.

When we returned to the historic Picchetti Winery, one of the resident peacocks was perched and preening. [Not something you would expect to encounter on a hike ... unless you've been here before.]

It was a joy to be reunited again! For many years, we were a tight team; some moved on (by choice, or not). Now we hike together, volunteer together: hopefully for many years to come.

Revisiting the Redwoods

There were only four of us today, but one had made the trip from San Francisco to trek through the redwood forest with us!

We enjoyed colorful leaves on the valley oaks (and no mist) this time of year.

Someone had a little fun with the sawed end of a fallen tree!

I was surprised when our group was game to extend our planned hike (same loop I'd hiked a few months ago) to continue to the summit. That added quite a bit more uphill (plus 2 miles). We were disappointed not to be rewarded with a scenic view at the top. [Oh well.] Now I know.

I was “rewarded” with blisters on the bottom of both pinky toes. Maybe wool socks aren't the best choice for a long hike?

Daylight was fading and the moon rising as we made our way back to the parking lot. I was surprised when a few people passed us, heading up the trail so late.

We'd made the most of our day (7.4 miles and plenty of good conversation): the gate was closed and the ranger onsite to account for the stragglers.

Those blisters? Totally worth it.

Turkey Trotters

This year marked the 19th annual edition of the Silicon Valley Turkey Trot, a fundraising Thanksgiving morning tradition. When I realized they needed volunteers in the days leading up to the event, I signed up for a weekday slot. Because, I can.

I knew about this event, but had no idea how big it was: Fielding something like 21,000 participants entails distributing a lot of bibs (race numbers) in advance. And after so many years, the organizers were, well ... organized.

When two people were needed to staff a number look-up station and only one hand went up, I claimed the second spot. Good decision, as it turned out my partner had experience—same role, second volunteer shift.

People could also register at our station, and a few did. We were there to shepherd them through the sign-up process, if they got stuck. One woman explained that while she's normally part of a family group, there would be only two of them this year. “Will you be there?” she asked. No, I explained; I'm not a runner. “You could walk. Next year!”

True enough. The 5k would be easy.

Next year?

Be the Change

I pulled into the parking lot where I would meet my friends, frowning as I passed three large pieces of litter. Well, I would take care of that in short order.

Not wanting to touch the rumpled tshirt, I snagged it with my hiking poles. As I raised the lid on the nearest trash bin, one of the guys who had been loitering near his motorcycle approached with the other two items! I thanked him; he replied “Thank you, it's not even your trash!” I smiled. “I always try to leave a place cleaner than I found it.”

Not having hiked these trails until today, I was surprised to get a glimpse of Monterey Bay (blanketed in fog).

Our trek would have been more peaceful on a weekday, I reckon. It's been years since I've biked up here on a weekend, and now ... I learned that I shouldn't. Sports cars and motorcycles driven by wanna-be racers evidently rule the road, with no enforcement in sight. Roaring engines made it challenging to hear anything else. And I don't think I've seen a discarded beer bottle along a trail—until now.

My companions and beautiful weather made for a good hike (4.7 miles), anyway.

Yes, I carried out (and recycled) that bottle. [But not the Beetle.]